Fast Breaking
by ThisCouldTheoreticallyBeSparta
Summary: To indulge in each other is the most perfect way to break a fast...


**FAST-BREAKING**

Fandom: Assassin's Creed

Pairing: Altaïr/Malik

Genre: PWP

Rating: NC-17

Disclaimer: Belongs to Ubisoft. I'm just playing with them in a different way than usual.

Summary: He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand with his own slow smirk. Altaïr licks his lips, and decides to forfeit the game before they have even begun to play. He reaches forward, his fingers curling in the short, sparse hair at the base of Malik's skull, and pulls him into a kiss. A kiss of passion and hunger, all dancing tongue and possessive lips.

A/n: a birthday present for Allahdammit on DA. Happy birthday! I hope you like this freaky, convoluted porn.

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Warily he slips through the shadows, nought but an illusion, a swiftly disappearing apparition in the night. He does not stop, his destination all he can focus on, his entire intent. Any who catch sight of him a promptly ignored, and left wondering whether that white ghost was reality or their imagination. Guards are skirted, soft-footed like a cat on the hunt; roofs are leapt, sure-footed as a mountain goat and light as a deer; walls are scaled, smoothly as a gecko in the hot afternoon sun. Until finally, he reaches his endpoint.

He whistles like a night owl through the fine wooden lattice, and waits. He crouches, thankful for the new moon, until a light cuts its flickering way through the darkness below him. The oil lamp is set on the floor, and with a low grumble the lattice is slid open with a pole.

"What time is this, in the name of the Prophet?" Malik demands as the shadow slips through the hatch, dropping quietly to the floor, noiseless as a feather. The lattice is closed once more, silently sliding back into place along well-oiled grooves. Malik places the pole back in its corner with an exasperated huff, and turns to find the white spectre gone. Taking up the lamp up once more, he heads to his sleeping quarters. He leans against the doorframe to watch Altaïr – for of course it is he – divest himself of weapons and clothing. The assassin seats himself in his undershirt and trousers on the thick-woven rug, moving his neck from side to side and rolling his shoulders, wincing in satisfaction at the cracks of his overwrought bones.

"I take it you are hungry?" Malik asks, hoping to get a reply this time. Altaïr looks up, his smile crooked.

"Starving. What do you have?"

"I have cold meat and bread. It shall have to suffice."

He brings Altaïr a bowl of meat and offers it, sitting cross-legged opposite the other man on the rug. He also hands him the three dates, which Altaïr eats quickly, spitting the stones into his hand. Malik watches Altaïr devour the goat meat and the sauce, using the thin, sweet bread as a utensil, shovelling it into his mouth as if he has not eaten since sun-up. Which, indeed, he has not. Neither has Malik, of course, but he had the luxury of dining as soon as the sun set. Ramadan takes its toll on Assassins on missions. Malik hands him a cup of water, which Altaïr takes with a brief nod before drinking in three swallows, with no breaths taken, a slow trickle running down his chin and neck. Malik does not hide how his eyes follow it, desiring to trace its path with his tongue. Altaïr lowers the cup and catches the other's eye as he wipes his mouth. His smirk tightens the scar at the corner of his lips, and he leans back on the few cushions behind him.

"Is there something you wish to ask me?"

Malik rolls his eyes. As usual, the other must always try to bend Malik to his will, get the Dai to come to him. Malik, unfortunately for Altaïr, is no novice to this game of his. Have they not played it countless times before, with Altaïr never victorious?

"I do not know. Maybe you should enlighten me, if you can read me so well."

He leans forward, resting his chin on his hand with his own slow smirk. Altaïr licks his lips, and decides to forfeit the game before they have even begun to play. He reaches forward, his fingers curling in the short, sparse hair at the base of Malik's skull, and pulls him into a kiss. A kiss of passion and hunger, all dancing tongue and possessive lips.

And the fire within is ignited.

Altaïr pulls Malik against him, hands desperately searching for the openings in clothing, wandering like lost men across the other's body. Malik answers with equal fervour, fisting his hand in Altaïr's tunic. Altaïr pushes him down to the carpet, never breaking their impetuous kiss, quick fingers making short work of annoying fastenings. He then slips his hands into Malik's tunic, fingers spreading wide over hot, flat muscle. Malik hums into their liplock, sliding his own hand lower, down Altaïr's strong back along a well-worn path.

Altaïr pulls away then, dedicating his attention to Malik's neck, longing to leave marks and knowing he cannot. To have the whole world see Malik belongs to him… One day he shall write his name across this man, claim him as his own in ink that shall never fade, but until then he must be content with this. With taste and touch and the sweet sounds of Malik's groans and sighs.

Malik sinks his nose into Altaïr's rough, short hair, breathing in the day's dirt and sweat.

"You… You should bathe…" he hisses as Altaïr nips along his collarbone. The other man laughs.

"And you should be naked," he retorts, raising himself up on his arms and gazing down a Malik with his eyes aflame with desire. Malik snorts but obeys, for once, pushing the other off him and quickly stripping himself, as fast with one hand as he was with two. Altaïr waits impatiently, longing to indulge in that dark skin that begs to be savoured. Such a fitting way to break one's fast.

Once Malik is in only his trousers, he gives Altaïr a narrow-eyed, shrewd look. "Am I the only one to be naked? Am I a show for you, Altaïr?"

Altaïr tugs off his own tunic obediently, chuckling. "Whatever you wish," he purrs.

"Then move to the bed," Malik orders lazily, knowing his orders shall be followed. "I have no wish to take you on the floor like a dog, although you deserve it."

"How strange," Altaïr muses aloud, lying back to allow Malik his own play. "You did not complain last time."

Malik growls and straddles Altaïr, pinching one of the other man's nipples in retaliation. It is most satisfying to hear Altaïr hiss and see the red tinge spread along his cheeks. Altaïr does enjoy pain, but Malik has no desire for such play tonight.

Instead he wastes no time and tugs at the drawstrings keeping Altaïr's pants in place. With a delighted hum he uncovers the other's hard cock, licking his lips. The way Altaïr's shaft stands straight and proud, as arrogant as its owner, never fails to make his mouth water.

Leaning up on his elbows, Altaïr cannot take his eyes off Malik as the other man takes his erection in hand, lapping at the tip almost idly. As the other's lips wrap around him, he reaches down, his fingers tightening on Malik's shoulder. Once the other begins to suck in earnest, Altaïr cannot help but tilt his head back, gasping into the dimly-lit room, the only witness to their hidden pleasures.

Although this is a taste Malik has indulged in innumerable times before, it never ceases to arouse him further. How his mouth can undo even Altaïr's arrogance, and leave him completely at his mercy. How any fool could believe he is not in power is beyond Malik's comprehension, and Malik is a wise man. To see and feel Altaïr writhe beneath him, muscles pulled tight with lust, is a delicious joy for Malik, each and every time.

It is even more satisfying when he hears Altaïr whine as he leaves him, licking his lips thoughtfully. To have Altaïr hanging off him like this, storm-tossed with as yet unspent pleasure, is extremely empowering

"We are not done yet," Malik breathes. Altaïr's disappointment transforms into heady anticipation as he watches Malik finally rid himself of those infernal trousers. He slithers behind the other man, pulling him back into his arms, kissing his shoulder.

"I should hope not," he groans, sliding his hands down Malik's body and grasping the other's thick cock. What Altaïr has in length, Malik makes up for in breadth, and Altaïr loves it.

"How shall we go about this, hm?" he asks, revelling in the arc of Malik's back as he thrusts into Altaïr's hand. "Shall I take you? Give you what I know you desire…?"

Malik, however, has other plans. Swift as a snake, he slips from Altaïr's grasp and presses the other down once more.

"Perhaps," he murmurs, agreeing for once. "Pass the oil."

He does not miss Altaïr's delighted shiver. The assassin reaches above himself almost gracelessly, searching unseeingly for the pot always hidden among Malik's pillows. His eyes cannot leave Malik's devilish expression, those dark eyes boring into him, devouring him with the pure yearning within them. He wrenches the lid off the oil, biting his lip as the Dai takes his time, coating his fingers.

Malik once again straddles Altaïr's hips, their hard cocks aligned as he reaches behind himself, licking his lips. He breaches himself with the shortest of gasps, two fingers probing himself. His eyes slide shut as he loses himself in the pleasure of having something inside him once more. He starts when he feels another finger prodding his entrance, opening his eyes. Altaïr smirks up at him, leaning up on his elbow. He slips a slick finger alongside Malik's own, his arm brushing the other's tight balls with his movement. He adds another, working in unison with Malik to prepare him, although this is easily as much a part of their sensual dance as anything else. Not just preparation, merely another phase. It is a lull in the storm, a quiet moment in the hunger of their lovemaking, and so intimate it almost hurts. Malik shudders and lets out a rough groan, shaking his head. It is becoming too much.

"E-enough…" he hisses, and Altaïr gently slides his fingers from the other man. Malik follows suit, shifting until Altaïr's shaft rests against the cleft of his arse. He reaches behind himself again, steadying Altaïr as he sinks down upon him, his cheek twitching but a little at the welcome intrusion. Once Altaïr is fully sheathed in Malik's heated core, he pulls the other down for a harsh kiss, mostly biting teeth and rough tongue. Malik laughs breathlessly and pulls away, pushing himself up until he can gaze down at his lover.

Altaïr wastes no time. He is impatient at the best of times, and sex is no exception. He thrusts up, moaning at Malik's warmth around him. Malik voice soon joins the assassin's, his groans uneven as they begin to move together. They both have the steps of this sacred dance memorised. And together, they both know they have perfected it.

Altaïr's hands dig into Malik's thighs, nails scratching hard flesh as their movements deepen. To see Malik, so uptight, so stubborn, come loose like unhemmed threads is both humbling and rousing. He laughs at the irony of those who would say Malik had a broom up his arse all the time: little do they know Malik is only unravelled when Altaïr is in him.

Malik lets his head fall forward, his senses sharpened to knifepoint. Altaïr's length inside him, filling him, is always the most welcome of pleasures. It allows him to be free of the restrictions he gives himself. Before Altaïr came to his bed, he took no joy in anything, not since Kadar was alive. But now… he can rest easy after this.

"H…Harder…" he grinds out, and Altaïr obeys, holding his lover steadily in his grip as he strengthens his lunges within the other. Malik's centre is being played relentlessly, as his groans have been whetted to deeper moans, almost cries of pleasure. Altaïr himself is lost in how Malik tightens around him, the perfect scabbard. And all he can bite out is moans and Malik's name.

They thrust in a solid counterpoint, jagged like only two men can be together, until Malik realises Altaïr is close to his undoing. His thrusts are shallower, mere flickers of his hips, his breath is ragged. His hands have wandered, curling around Malik's cock to bring the other to bliss like his own. Malik knows he will not last long either. Having something within him like this brings him easily to his peak, and having it be Altaïr only more so.

Sure enough, Altaïr comes with a hoarse shout, heels dug deep in the mattress, coating Malik's deep inside with his essence. Malik allows him a moment to bask in the aftershocks, his hips twitching, until the Dai becomes impatient.

"And I?" he demands. Altaïr opens his eyes, his breath coming in long, satisfied pants, and smirks. To Malik's annoyance, he slips out and rolls them over. However, Malik's annoyance is forgotten when those scarred lips encase him hungrily, swallowing him with practised ease. It does not take long within that wet warmth before Malik surrenders, pouring himself down Altaïr's throat, his hand tugging the other's scrubby hair.

Altaïr pulls back from Malik's softening cock, licking his lips as if he has just tasted a king's banquet, and watches Malik recover with smouldering eyes. Malik is beautiful like this, undone, sated and complete.

Once Malik's opens his eyes, Altaïr is there, kissing him softly. Now they can indulge in all the soft caresses and foolish sentimentality they dare not before, afterglow their well-used excuse. Altaïr murmurs his affection, burying his face in Malik's neck. Malik curls his one arm around Altaïr's shoulders, tracing his name absently on sex-scented skin. Altaïr smiles at the gesture, proof he is not the only one with thoughts of possession.

"Sleep, you have a mission tomorrow," Malik murmurs. Altaïr huffs.

"One day I will take joy in lazing in bed with you all day," he says wistfully. "We will do nothing but make love and sleep and eat, heedless of the heat of the day and Templars and prayers and any other foolishness."

Malik chuckles. "You dream big, beloved," he replies. "Perhaps one day."

Altaïr rolls over onto his back, taking Malik's fingers and kissing them absently. "Soon, I should hope."

"Soon," Malik concedes, but it is moot whether he believes it or is merely pacifying the other. "Sleep now. You must rise before dawn."

Altaïr nods vaguely, reaching for the thin sheet to cover them both with. And he falls into a deep, easy slumber not usually permitted in Assassin circles. Malik hums to himself, gently caressing Altaïr's chest, and allows himself to sleep also, taking solace in Altaïr's warm presence by his side. Such a good way to break a fast.


End file.
